Birds of Paradise

by Harlequin Sequins

Hanne Kessler knows the meaning of almost every flower in the world and longs to own a florist shop someday. But after she meets the charming Hans Landa, her mother's latest match for her, her comfortable haven starts to take a darker turn...Landa/OC.

3. III: Ruinous Reputations

Author's Notes: The longest chapter yet! Stands at 16, 650 words and 30 pages in Microsoft Word, so if you're easily bored, perhaps I should warn you that this story won't have short chapters...perhaps ever. Anyway, beware, there is a scene in which Hanne is viciously compromised at the end there, so don't say I didn't warn you! Here's to hoping I didn't ruin the entire story, ha. I don't think it's enough to warrant an M rating, but still...it's there. Hopefully this isn't too disappointing...I worked on it for days. Thanks for reading!

I'll go over this and correct the mistakes later. So ignore any grammatical errors or sentences that might not make sense. Enjoy!

Disclaimer - I don't own Hans Landa or any of the characters from Inglourious Basterds. They belong to Quentin Tarantino.

---

It was one of those rare occasions in which my father and I found ourselves alone.

After so many years of being around my mother constantly, and having to stomach what father called 'her constant spewing of drivel', I came to prize these moments as little gems. Pockets of memories that I would never take for granted as I looked forward to each segment of time which I could spend with only him. Today was one of them and I could not have been happier.

The only reason we were not accompanied by my mother was, of course, because the venue in which our outing would take place was not at all to her liking – my new flower shop. It was this reason that deterred her visit with us and, more importantly, that I simply refused to go with her to France to buy my wedding dress. Not only did a trip to France violate my planning schedule for the wedding, as I had every detail mapped out on a list which I would follow as religiously and meticulously as a monk, but French designs were made for those slender, tall and petite figures and did not appeal to me in any way.

This angered her greatly, much to my dismay, but not really much to my surprise. She'd been so uncharacteristically sane and happy in the past few days following the announcement of my engagement to Hans that I was sorry to see her cheerfulness finally dissipate. But it was just the way the circle of her behavior worked – first she was cheerful and easy to get along with, then something would upset her. And so on…and so on..

My mother's changeable moods were like the tide – they came in and fell away with each rising and falling of the sun.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly ignored for the duration of the morning as my mother flipped through a wedding periodical at German designers for my dress, against my protestations that we would look together. She did it to spite me, I'm sure, her small rebellion against my authority over the situation. My father seemed rather content in seeing that my mother, for once, did not get her way and rather rejoiced in seeing her mope on the settee with such a thin rag in her lap.

I sat by the window, waiting for our taxi to arrive.

"Well, my darling, don't you go and enjoy yourself too much now." My father chuckled as he pulled on a weatherworn cap over his greased blonde hair. "And quit reading those rags – they'll rot your brain straight out of your head!"

"Oh, you good for nothing arschloch, how can youspeak to me in such a way!You have no right to tell me what to do and I will certainly do as I please!" My mother fired back, tearing adamantly through the pages. "You and your terrible daughter can do as you please, I'm sure, so I should be given the same treatment as the lot of you! Besides, she listens to you, no matter how good my advice may be and how superior it is to yours! She's a stupid girl and you are a stupid man…you deserve each other, in my good opinion!"

"Mama…" I beseeched, turning away from the harsh glare of the windowpanes. I crossed the length of the room and dropped to my knees once I reached her, taking her hand as to soothe her wounded feelings. It all came down to her view of the situation, really. Her fear that I preferred my father over her was the most prominent in the front of her mind, while in the back it was the suspicion that I undermined her authority over me.

Neither would do. I loved my mother greatly, no matter how irritating she could become.
Besides, I was always a source of irritation for both her and my father, so I was no different from her.

Like mother like daughter.

She tore her hand out of my grip. "Did you not hear me Hanne? I do not want to speak to you ever again! I should say that you did not hear, at least when it comes to me! It's your father you listen to, not me at all! Why he should have your love and I should not confuses me, but I will not be used by you any longer! "

"Oh, mama, you and I both know that is not true! I listen to you all the time and I should hope that you do not think that I love father more than I love you," I replied and rested my head on her knee. "I love you so very much and would never think to undermine your authority, nor your social insight. It is because of you, really, that I can gladly call myself the future Frau Landa. And to accuse me of being ungrateful is hurtful to say the least!"

For a moment, the room was silent. I raised my head from her knee and looked up into her face, emotions flitting through her transparent air of composure like ghosts through the night. At first, arrogance seemed to be winning the battle for dominance, but slowly, and surely, placation began to creep its way into the mix.

Eventually, it won over, a rather violent transition; my mother never quite had a good poker face.

"Oh, all right," she said, sighing as she closed her periodical and put it aside. The white flag had been raised. "You've won me over, you snake charmer you! But if you are late for when Anneliese comes later this afternoon, you and I are quite done for! I will never speak to you again and will not be sorry to ignore you completely for the rest of your life, after you are married of course."

Anneliese's train had been delayed and would not arrive until at least three in the afternoon. We'd received the phone call early this morning, at breakfast, and mother was quite put out by the ill-favored news. She'd never been a morning person, being quite the 'petulant hag' in the early hours, as my father deemed her, and receiving such a report did not sit well with her at all.

Perhaps she was only fashioned for afternoon parties and nocturnal soirees.

She stood up quickly. "Now! You must be off, the both of you. Anneliese arrives with the three o' clock train and it is already eleven thirty! Off, off!"

My father began to grumble as he stalked off in the general direction of the foyer. I was about to follow him when I was promptly yanked back by the collar of my dress.

"Now wait just a minute, Hanne. I need to have a word with you, my darling girl," she said, proceeding to use that age-old trick of pinching my cheeks to revive a rosy blush into the pale skin there. It was always a painful cheat and I'd always prefer to be pale and unsightly then resort to masochism.

"About the engagement…" She began as she straightened a wrinkle out of my overcoat. "You mustn't speak a world of it to anyone, do you hear? Don't even mention it in front of the driver! I'm sure Hans will want to announce it at the party this evening, at BrigadeführerMendler's party you know, so don't you go and reveal it to the world! You know well enough how fast rumors can travel."

"Mama," I scoffed, pushing her hands gently away from my overcoat. "Do not take me for a simpleton. I will not breathe a word…"

I do not wish to either. I am simply sick of this wedding business for the time being and will be glad to be rid of it for an hour or two.

I dared not speak my mind when she was in such a fragile state of mind, our relationship only temporarily repaired. The usual reaction I could expect from her, if I let any note of sarcasm slip into my voice, would be catastrophic to say the least.

Instead, I plastered on my best attempt at a sycophantic grin and went along with whatever she said. Even if it was completely unnecessary.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you from your beloved shop, should I?" I could almost picture her nose hoisted up in the air, in that snobbish sort of disapproving way. She breathed in sharply through her nose. "Yes, that damned shop of yours that will be the death of your reputation. I can almost hear it now! That Hanne Kessler girl? Working? Whatever for?"

To the rich, working was a luxury that should have been reserved for the men alone. Women were like adornments, only to be seen and admired but not heard (especially in Herr Zedler's opinion, who was a ghastly man). We were worn on the arms of society and polished to a gold-wrought sheen, wearing the finest jewelry that her husband could buy and a dress that accentuated every reason for his marrying her, every self-explanitory curve.

I was sure Hans would not treat me with such disrespect as to treat me like some trophy wife. He had already bought me the shop himself and did not seem at all put out by the idea of me working.

Perhaps it surprised him.

Perhaps it was even a pleasant surprise, a refreshing revelation to see a woman actually want to establish herself in the working world and not simply live for the parties and the inane female chatter and the champagne (though, it was quite good).

My mother, however, did not see my side of the story. Only hers.

"They're quite right, you know!" She exclaimed, her voice shrill again. "A woman should know her place in the world and your father would agree with me! A woman should submit to her husband and his wishes and that is all…"

A horn honked impatiently outside. "Speaking of fathers, I must be off. He's waiting for me."

I reached for her and kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, mama."

She waved me off, turning back to the window. "Yes, yes, now leave. Go and worship your precious shop and leave me to wallow in mourning over your ruined reputation!"

"You're not at all dressed for such a lamentable occasion," I quipped. She looked down at her pale pink dress and huffed quite loudly as I hurried toward the door, keeping a firm hand over my hat to keep it from flying straight off my head in the midst of such a rush. The taxi horn protested my tardiness once again before I reached the door, sliding in with haste as the driver began to pull away from the walks.

I spotted something in my peripheral vision as I moved to shut the door behind me. "Wait!" I called and the driver's widened eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. I reached out to pluck a dandelion from between a seam in the sidewalk. I exhaled, relieved to settle down into the backseat, and breathlessly said to the driver, "drive on, please!"

"You and your flowers, Hanne," my father chuckled, watching as I gently touched the feather-light petals. "I do wonder from what, or where, you derive this infatuation."

"Simply by looking around, father," I replied, gingerly setting the dandelion in my lap with trembling fingers. "There's so much of nature's beauty all around us, even in the city, that it's hard to ignore. Now, where is the shop? I'm dying to see it!"

"Don't dig your grave just yet, my dear, we're almost there. Just another block or so, I think…"He trailed off for a moment as we turned a corner, entering a commercial district. "Ah, yes. Just down this street here. It's quite a lovely place, I'll at least allow the snake charmer that compliment."

I watched him for a moment, held under scrutiny every motionless curve and static line in his face as to find the root of his problem with Hans. It just didn't seem natural to me, that Hans had won everyone over but my father, who was usually impressed with any man, young or old, who conformed to the Nazi ideology.

Hans, it seemed, was not worthy of the honor of winning my father's appreciation.

"Why is it that you do not like Hans?" I asked. "There must be something that makes you hate him so, a certain attribute perhaps? I do not understand it…for once both mother and I, we agree on the same man and you can't find one thing to commend him on."

He breathed in slowly through his nose, his thin lips stretched into a grim, hard line. For a moment, he did not answer, until his eyes swept over me and rested on my face. "I don't want to lose you, Hanne. You're all I've got left, really…"

"That's nonsense, father…you've got mama and your job as Standartenfuhrer and, of course, you've got all these wonderful parties to attend and astonish everyone with your unpopular opinion," I laughed, hoping to lift the heaviness that had settled over our conversation with a spark of levity. It seemed to fail, which I had expected, given his current state.

"You don't understand, Hanne," he replied tersely. "I will explain it to you someday, but not now. It's not safe…not during this era in which every word is taken into consideration and analyzed down to the very origin of its meaning. It's a dangerous world in which we live, Hanne. You will do good to follow its rules, its new concepts, in order to survive the great change."

Instead, I put my hand on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "What are you talking about?" My eyes narrowed.

When he did not answer, I moved to gently kiss his coarse cheek. The stubble tickled my nose, a familiar memory that I always held dear from the time of my childhood.

"Whatever fears you have in regards to my marrying Hans, you may as well forget them. You will never lose me," I assured him with a smile. "I can promise you at least that."

He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, snorting a little at my quixotic notions. "Yes, that is what you think now, my dear. But when the time comes, I will probably regret all of this…" He trailed off again, chasing some waking dream of his that begged a contemplative manner. Then, just as the cab began to weave out of traffic, he turned toward my side of the car. "Ah, here we are."

It took all the strength that was in me to keep from leaping out of that car and, contrary to the fact that my mother's view of me was one of a sort of savage who cared nothing for her reputation, I wanted to maintain a sense of decorum.

My father paid the man, a minute which felt like the span of forever in light of my restless (it was certainly murder on the nerves) anticipation, and followed me in a moment as the cab drove off, integrating back into the bustle on the streets. He looked up with a sigh at the building, a newer structure comprised entirely of multihued brick, and gestured toward the place with a sort of weary grandeur.

"After you, dear girl." He said. I nearly took off like an overly exuberant colt, but quickly smothered my enthusiastic tendencies and buried them in a shallow grave, deep in the back of my head. Instead, I simply nodded and walked, calmly, toward the door, opening it with a sort of shuddering breath.

Inside the place was more of an impressive sight to behold, even more so than the exterior, its first impression. The panels were, also, made of the same mottled brick that fashioned the outer partitions of the building itself. A large, ornate chandelier served as the main light fixture for the room and a long mahogany desk, which would serve as the register, was placed near the back of the place, occupying the left corner of the back wall. I closed my eyes, picturing the decorations – old world woods and Monet on the walls to give a dreamy sort of atmosphere, with flowers and plants of all kinds lining the walls. Little weave baskets of seeds would be situated near the register and stacks of books would be placed in the front window, to lure in potential romantics searching for the perfect gift for their sweetheart and cynics hoping to lift the spirits of their dormant apartments with a fragment of life to place on their windowsill. Anyone ,from the young schoolboy hoping to impress a pretty girl to the old war veteran putting flowers on his beloved wife's grave could come in and find solace in my shop.

I would turn no one away.

Not even the infamous Jews.

"So." My father interrupted my reverie, his voice reverberating off the thick emptiness that hung in the air like an impenetrable fog. "How do you like it? It's a nice sort of place, ja?"

"Father, it's perfect," I replied, crossing the floorboards (which looked like oak by their color) to investigate the desk. My hand, the only part of me that could not contain the excitement which coursed through me with unparalleled vibrancy, reached out to touch the lustrous wood. "Can you see it now? I'll be an independent, working woman of Germany!"

"Ah, yes, you will be able to escape your mother more often than I will," he joked. "But, first you must think of a name? What will it be, do you think?"

"Oh, I've already got a name. In fact, I picked the name out long ago, when I dreamed of this place," I replied, flourishing my arms to accentuate the moment of splendor. "I shall call it Eden! A place of refuge for a person such as me and a last minute savior for the typical husband who has forgotten St. Valentine's. Do you think it is befitting, father?"

"Yes, yes, it suits its purpose well," he replied, sweeping his gaze over the shop with what seemed a critical eye. "Nothing seems to be out of place. The fixtures have just been installed and you can start moving the furniture in the next few days, after they set up the greenhouse upstairs."

I'd hardly noticed, in my excitement, the backdoor. Behind which, I assumed, were the stairs.

And those stairs led up to my beloved greenhouse.

"Ah…" I peered at it, suddenly interested in what lay behind its deceptively dull-colored frame. "Can I see it? Upstairs?"

"No, it's not yet finished," he replied, a little jarringly in his severity. "I want at least one part of this little gift of mine to be a surprise. Now, let's see to that tea I promised you…there's a café down the street. Come now, darling…it does no use, staring at the door. You'll have to wait."

Despite my frustration at having to wait (I'd been waiting a long time, really), I recognized the fact that three more days would not hurt me anymore than three years had. I obediently followed my father out of the shop, where we forwent a cab and commenced the short trek down the busy streets of Berlin toward the café he'd mentioned.

Glad to finally have just a moment to ourselves.

---

I'd like to think I took after my Aunt Anneliese, at least in looks if I could not have the honor of inheriting her fair, not to mention enviable, temperament.

Of course, Anneliese was much older than me and, according to my father, it took a long time for her to adhere to the type of creature of sensibility and propriety that she is now. At first, she was a rebellious sort of girl that went off and married the first poor soldier she managed to fall in love with, just to spite her proud, blue-blood father – an act of defiance that result in disownment and, it was also very likely, a good hide-tanning by my mother.

She was a frightful sight to behold with my father's belt and that wild look in her eyes.

Even so, after her husband died fighting in the first World War, it became clear that Anneliese was not the sort of woman that loved twice in a lifetime. Once was enough for her, according to those around her. She did not have enough room in her heart for another man to take up what little space there was. Her life, they said, revolved too much around the existence of logic, subsisting on reason in a way that separated her from the rest of her sex.

The rumors made her out to be some kind of heartless wench.

But I always saw it as a romantic sort of gesture, not a lack of emotional capability or stamina at all – she held onto his memory for him and did not let go, at least for the short while in which he awaited her in the afterlife.

Patiently waiting in that sort of ethereal existence that awaited us when we passed on.

Three hours after returning home from our private excursion, I found myself sitting in the striped settee in our living room. It was a little too cold, with the afternoon graying a little beneath a veil of promising storm clouds, but the hearth was beginning to liven behind me and emanate a rich, omnipresent heat into the chilled atmosphere. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, folding my hands over my knee as I looked up into the ceiling, searching for little designs in the plaster while listening to the metallic clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen.

Mother was making afternoon tea before my father and Anneliese arrived; the clock on the mantle behind me, when I gave it a transient glance, read three o' clock. If all had gone well and the schedule had not fallen behind, her train had already arrived.

It was only a matter of time before she walked through that front door, instantaneously filling the apartment with tranquil sort of ambience that could not be ignored.

Not even by my mother.

Quick footsteps echoed down the narrow hall for only a moment. I stood up, releasing my hand from its clasp around my knee, just in time for said mother to walk in. She was balancing a tray – tea kettle, a bowl of sugar cubes and a serving dish of crème all arranged in their usual places.

"Mama." I outstretched my hands, moving to reach for the tray. "Let me help you with that, ja? It looks a little heavy for you…"

She duly noted my rash movements and tore it away from my grasp, nearly upsetting the ensemble. My heart leapt at such a terrible thought; her carpets, which she always kept so clean, would be ruined…and she would be perfectly undone by losing their unaffected appearance.

Fortunately for both me and her, the contents of the tray only slid a little, disturbed by the lurching pace.

"Ah, ah, Hanne!" She clicked her tongue at me and passed me by, setting the tea set on the coffee table and wiping her hands on her apron. "I am not an old woman yet and I will not let you coddle me like one! Yes, you are an artful one you are, but you will not undermine my authority just yet! I have a sense of pride to withhold and you will not steal that from me! No, not at all."

And all I'd meant to do was help her set the table for the afternoon discussion.

I allowed a small smile and moved toward the window so she would not see it, listening to the background clatter of spoons and her quiet humming that soothed the unsettled air like an undercurrent.

"Do you see them Hanne?" She asked, coming up suddenly behind me to peer into the crowd for any vaguely familiar faces. It would be hard to miss any signs of Anneliese and my father…they were often mistaken a pair of twins, the price for looking so much alike.

"Not yet," I replied. Only a second had passed, or at least it only felt like a second, before she gasped and jabbed her finger against the spotless pane.

"Are you blind as a bat dear girl? There they are, right there. Perhaps it is from you reading too much…I never did like all those books your Anneliese sent you! Not good for a girl's mindset, I always said. They put too many ideas in one's head that are not necessary for the sort of life we live! Not to mention, that small print is murder on the eyes!"

"Yes, well, mama, if father had not joined the SS, we would not be living like this at all," I shot back. "I was used to living a certain way before. It is not that I am ungrateful for the luxuries you and father have provided for me, especially in such an era as this one, but I have always loved to read. You know this and you used to encourage my education, saying that men liked smart women."

"That was before Hitler became chancellor, Hanne! You must follow the times, not stick yourself so permanently in the past. We were paupers before, you remember! Only the women who brag their intelligence marry in the lower class. But we, darling…we are rich now!"

She giggled to herself at the thought, thoroughly enjoying the sound of such a declaration coming out of her mouth. The wife of a former pauper, now living a life filled to the brim with elegance and vanity.

"And anyway, rich men don't want smart wives," she said. "They want lovely, quiet and submissive brides, not these girls that flaunt their aptitude like it's some sort of…gift from God! I daresay, you were lucky to catch such a man as Hans, the way you carry on about your damned flowers! I hardly know how the poor fellow will put up with you, I can only imagine!"

The door opened at last and I was spared the tirade.

I rushed forth upon hearing the air from the outside world sweep into the apartment, pervading our refuge like some wearied visitor. Two pairs of feet shuffled their way through the frame, one patiently awaiting the other to step completely inside before following after. I felt very much akin to a child again, bounding in the foyer with reckless abandon, which my mother promptly scolded me for (she had begun to scold me for the smallest things lately, like taking too much to eat at dinner and even reading by the window in the afternoons).

"Anneliese!" I threw my arms around her and her mouth gave way to a small, indefinable sound of surprise. Nonetheless, she returned my embrace as best she could with her full hands by pressing her cheek against mine and placing a small kiss there.

"Oh, how's my darling Hanne? Step back, dearest, so I can get a good look at the newly engaged woman here!" I did as I was told and showed her the ring; her eyes popped when she saw the size of the diamond. "Oh goodness…is this a rich fella you're marrying?"

"I suppose so," I replied, taking in the symbol of betrothal with a small incline of my head, digging into its facets to find some new face of beauty that perhaps I'd not seen before in my endless hours of gazing at it. "He's just been promoted to Unterscharführer, after only a month and a half of working for the SS. He's a very intelligent man…I'm quite the lucky girl for catching him!"

"And romantic too, I hope?" She asked.

"Yes, very romantic," I replied. "He sent me a red tulip before he officially proposed to me! A letter, too. And then, oh Anneliese…he gave me my favorite flower! And since Casablanca lilies are from a more tropical climate, coming from the Orient…"

"Oh, for God's sake, is that girl going off about those damned flowers again?!" My mother came barging into the conversation, her brow furrowed so low into her sockets that the shadows around her eyes seemed to darken altogether. The wild spark in her eye had returned, making her look absolutely feral.

"Hannelore, my dear friend…don't be too put off by it." Anneliese intervened. "It's good that she has an outlet…I seem to recall a young girl who, in her prime, all she cared about was her next beau? Besides, Hanne's knowledge of flowers is rather fascinating. Don't you have a shop opening soon?"

"Don't you instigate, Anneliese! I've told her…now that she's getting married I will have none of that silly little girl stuff she talks about!" My mother turned swiftly on her heel, redirecting our attention to the living room. "Now, why don't we all sit down for tea?"

"God damn it, Anneliese! Would you hurry along?" My father, of course, had to add in his two cents, making the entry hall a madhouse with all the commotion stirring the air. "These bags are heavy! You sill women can chat later, when my arms aren't about ready to fall off."

"As pleasant as always, aren't we Wilhelm? Besides, you're a Standartenführer…if you can handle all those impressionable young men all day, you can certainly handle a few old bags!" She jested lightly, handing off her bags to my father with a small thank you.

He only grunted in response, not looking too happy about becoming his sister's temporary bagman while she indulged her desire to hear of my fiancée….

I could almost hear the grumbling under his breath as he walked toward the spare bedroom.

An SS ranking officer like me, treated like some family Negro! I should have them all whipped for such insubordination, but unluckily for me they're not enlisted, and neither can they be because they're all damned silly women…

Perhaps Hanne has a bit of sense, but she's still a silly girl, getting all swoony over such a silly, insignificant thing as getting married. And to that snake charmer, too! That Hans Landa, who is barely a year younger than I am!

It's a terrible thing when you must see your daughter married off to some old geezer…I blame Hannelore, the dirty old hag…

"Hanne! Hanne, come along now!" My mother's piercing voice trickled in from the living room, where I was sure poor Anneliese's ears were taking in all of its ferocious, deafening glory. "We have things to discuss! Like your invitations, for example?"

I sighed; the wedding had become her favorite topic, a little hypocritical, really, in light of her tabooing any mentioning of flowers when it came to me. "Coming, mama."

The heat that had been quite weak before had covered the entire room in a thick blanket of warmth in our short absence. I felt as if I were walking through a summer day and not our living room at all as I crossed the carpets and reached the settee, where Anneliese was sitting. I settled into the vacant seat next to her, which my mother did not seem to like…if there were guests in the house and I chose to show them a little more attention than I did to her, she became very jealous.

But when it was only her and me, I could sit wherever I pleased…as long as I lent an available ear for her to pour all of her complaints and exaltations into.

Anneliese, the blessedly astute woman that she was, saw it fit to impose a distraction.

"So, Hanne," she began as she selected a tea cup from the tray. "Have you and Hans set a date for the ceremony?"

"Well, I-"

"Of course she hasn't! She hasn't paid a speck of attention to planning this damned wedding of hers and she's been engaged for at least a week now!" My mother huffed, practically throwing the sugar cubes into her cup. "I can hardly believe this girl at times, Anneliese. You must tell her that if she wants a proper ceremony, she must plan it now! Autumn weddings are not in style this season…it is all about the summer nuptials! So Frau Ackerman has told me…in her own special way of course."

Anneliese stirred calmly as she heaved a great, pensive sigh. "Well, Hannelore, in this case I will have to side with Hanne, though I do not usually like to take sides in such delicate situations as these most certainly are…"She chuckled a little, unfazed by mother's ostentatious sulking. "If Hanne wants to wait until winter to say her vows, then there is nothing we can do about it. This is all up to her, from setting the date to what dress she will wear. By the way, Hanne…" She looked to me for a moment. "I do hope you will select a dress while I'm here…I'd simply love to help. I know I am not exactly fashionable like your mother here, but I certainly can try to be helpful."

As per usual, nothing of what Anneliese had said was processed. It had been as if she'd never spoken at all, the way my mother ignored her. But that was normal…no one was in the least astonished by her behavior.

"And that's another thing!" She cried, placing the cup in her lap. "You must get through to her and tell her that you must always draw up the guest list first! She will not listen to me, the stubborn, stupid girl…I tell her these things and it simply does not stick! But no, she wants to pick her beloved flowers first. I swear on my life, if I ever see a damned flower again in the whole of my existence I will not be at all kind to it! In fact, I will throw it on the ground and stomp on it!"

"Mother, it's my wedding and I will do what I want with it. No amount of intimidation will convince me otherwise." I replied. She snorted and sipped at her tea, trying to ignore her aggressive lust to wring my neck in front of the guest. Propriety was probably the only concept that stayed her hand and, for a moment, I was grateful for her obsession with social conduct.

"I already have the flowers all picked out, both for my bouquet and for the general decoration at the reception, which, I assure you…" I emphasized my point with a pointed glance at my mother, who was too busy stirring her tea in a heated sort of manner to receive it. "I assure you, the reception will be small. At least my invitation list will be short. I am not sure about Hans…he said he'd mail his choices to me while he's in Munich, investigating a case of sorts."

Anneliese looked momentarily confused. "I thought you said your fiancée works for the SS?"

"He does," I replied. "He is a very skilled detective, from what I hear. I have not seen him work as of yet, but I'm sure I will once we move in together. The SS, they send him all over Germany to find runaway POW's, the important ones at least. He's found quite a number so far…one of the most important was a radical communist who was stirring up trouble in Bulgaria. He escaped about a month ago from German custody and Hans caught him near Freiberg, next to the Swiss border."

"Well, that is impressive!" She declared, replacing her empty china on the tray. "What a husband he will be…"

"A suspicious one, I'm sure," I quipped, permitting her a small chuckle.

Anneliese smiled in return. "I'm sure he is an amiable young man…"

I averted my eyes to my hands; She, I knew, would become doubtful of the circumstances, knowing how attuned she was to the underlying truth of unconventional relationships. "He is not young," I admitted. "Hans is at least forty-eight, give or take three years. I have not yet asked him, as I considered it rude while we were more or less courting. But I mean to…just after we are married."

"Forty-eight?" Anneliese nearly choked on her own tongue as it struggled to form such abominable words. "Hanne, this is your idea, marrying this man?"

"Of course it is!" I retorted, a little defensively, but it was my dear Hans she was talking about in that critical sort of way. "I would not marry anyone if it did not suit me. Besides, I like him very, very much and am not at all convinced that I will not be happy with him. In fact, I am sure I will be happy with him. He's a charming, amiable and wonderful man and I don't care about our age difference, though I did in the beginning. I will be very proud to bear his name."

She looked to my mother, who had all but quieted as her sour mood only seemed to suffer throughout the course of the conversation. "Hannelore, I take it this isn't one of your prospects that happened to catch Hanne's eye, ja?"

"So what if he was?" My mother squawked in objection at such an incriminating claim. "It makes no difference whether I singled him out or not! Hanne approves of him and thinks highly of the man, so I can't see why it would affect her decision even if I had picked him out of the gutters! Besides, Wilhelm knew him from headquarters, when Hans submitted his application! That was in the early spring, mind you, and he'd almost forgotten, the old fool! But Hans is a man one could never, ever forget…not for long!"

"Well, as long as there's no strange business going on here, I suppose I approve, though I do say he's almost as old as your father!" Anneliese seemed to be reprimanding me, but I suspected she was really directing her warning to my mother, who was responsible for her usual dabbling in matchmaking. "Two years off, dear Hanne, and he would be the same age. I hope that does not grow to be a problem in the future…"

"Oh, it won't! I assure you, Anneliese, that it will not! Hanne will remain loyal to Hans and submissive to him in every way, no thoughts of divorce to evercross her mind. Isn't that right dear?" My mother smiled at me through clenched teeth and I couldn't help but feel as if she were threatening me.

But divorce was the furthest thing from my mind. I wasn't even a newlywed as of yet, hardly a fiancée, really, as our engagement was still so new. It would be announced that very evening, at the Brigadeführer Mendler's gathering.

"Besides, dear Anneliese," she continued, looking very, very serious as she spoke. "It really all comes down to the fact that Hans is good, no necessary for the furthering of Hanne's reputation! To marry such an ambitious and, of course, very good looking and charming man as Hans Landa is to become the epitome of social elegance and envy, which is exactly what Hanne needs! She is much too spoiled…I have ruined her by raising her on such tedious little things as books and dolls, but I thought it would be good for her at the time. But I will say, it is Hanne's fault for getting too comfortable with that lifestyle! No one should ever just simply settle into something like that! No, one must be ready for change."

"Hannelore, please," Anneliese retorted. "Be reasonable my dear friend…Hanne was only a child. Children do not adapt to change as you and I do. You cannot surely blame anything on her, as reading and having even a small amount of intelligence to boast is a good thing to have, especially in a woman. Now I know some men do not prefer smart wives, but I do say that a lot of them do. And if Hans is even half the brilliant fellow you and Hanne have said he is, then he will enjoy Hanne's interests, if not just for her pursuit of them."

"Oh, what do you know of society?" My mother sneered. "You do not have to suffer the wrath of the rich folk as we do! We must conform to their every rule or all would be lost. But you, you are just a librarian, sending my daughter books that she doesn't need and that will rot her brain with scientific nonsense!"

"I do not know of society because I choose not to. The simple life is all that I need, really," Anneliese replied placidly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "And if society is so cruel to you, Hannelore, why don't you simply remove yourself from it? It would be a lot easier than to suffer the consequences of such an easy way of life."

The response she earned was certainly one of bemusement. "Remove myself from society?! I've never heard of a more stupid idea in my life! Not when Hanne is ready to marry into it and Wilhelm is so invested in his work!"

"And so Hanne can still marry and Wilhelm can still work," Anneliese gently explained. "All you have to do is quit the parties and the gossip and you will be free of them. Just because you have money and a good reputation, Hannelore, does not mean you are required to waste both on the rich."

The look on mother's face suggested she'd rather cut off both her thumbs than do any such thing. "Well, that surely will not happen. I may complain about the bad things that come with such a new standard of living as we have, but that does not mean I would so readily throw it away. The good outweighs the bad! Really, Anneliese…I thought you were supposed to be the sensible one in the family!"

Anneliese and I turned to one another and shared a secretive, muted laugh.

If only mother had known that she'd only been teasing her, perhaps the conversation would have turned out altogether different.

---

The household was all in uproar.

I sat at my vanity, listening to the raised voices from the other room. Mostly it was mother and father's shouting that snaked through the halls and spilled into my safe haven, while Anneliese remained the only subdued influence of reason throughout the whole ordeal.

The ordeal being, of course, that my mother had discovered that her husband had not extended the invitation to her.

"I'm an SS officer's wife, for God's sake, Wilhelm!" Her words cut through my closed door. "I have every right to go, more so than Hanne does! She is not even an officer's wife yet! You are a good for nothing arschloch, you mean bastard, and I will not forgive you for this, not for as long as I live."

"Oh, all you ever care for is parties! There's more to life than showing off, Hannelore!" He shot back. "Besides, I don't want you embarrassing me in front of my superiors. And neither do I want you humiliating Hanne with your constant barrage of marriage and gossip!"

"You're a black-hearted fiend and I will never forgive you!" I could hear the tears filter through her words.

His tone turned caustic. "Good riddance!" He said. "Anneliese, go and make her some tea. Calm her down before the old hag swoons or something infinitely worse."

"Wilhelm, really…" I heard Anneliese reply over mother's maudlin sobs. "Don't say such things in front of her. Can't you see she is upset? You're only aggravating the situation."

"Oh, for God's sake, woman. Don't coddle her, she's a grown woman! She needs to learn that the world, no matter how small it may seem, does not revolve around her." His footsteps began to rattle the paintings on the walls. "Hanne! If you're not out here in five minutes, I don't care how old you are or how soon you will be the snake charmer's wife – so help me God, I will tan your hide until it turns black and blue!"

I forwent my usual ritual – a look at each pale cheek in the mirror and a sigh – and snatched my purse from the corner of the dressing table, nearly upsetting a bottle of perfume in my heated rush. It was rather hard, dashing across the length of the room in a long skirt that hindered one's ability to walk, let alone run, but I managed to do so without falling over myself too much.

An injury in the family would probably only cause more unneeded strife; I was careful to watch every step, even as I reached the hallway, where at least the Persian carpets would cushion my fall.

"Hanne!" My father appeared at the end of the hall, tall and formidable in his dark gray dress uniform. "Get your ass to the car. We're leaving. Now."

I said nothing in return. What does one say to such an ominous command? I had at least the right amount of sense not to try and refute it, but instead simply quickened my easy pace through the front door, trying to ignore my mother's heartrending sobs coming in from the living room.

The picture in my head, of the scene that was currently taking place on the striped pink-and-white settee, was as clear as the night sky in early spring – no clouds of faulty memory to conceal the backdrop, nor any promise of rain to drown out the sound of her weeping. Anneliese was sitting bunched in the corner like a comfort blanket, hushing her softly and patting her shoulder in that usual way of hers.

My father, however, was not moved by her performance. He never was.

A displeased grunt rumbled in his throat as he slid in beside me and he took only a moment to bark at the driver to carry on. He then turned to me, his pulsing temple made harsh by the yellow streetlamps outside our windows, and said, "I swear on my life, Hanne. That woman will be the death of me."

No matter how much I didn't want to, I couldn't help but agree with him.

---

For the second time that season, we found ourselves driving through Potsdam. The only difference that separated this situation from the one before was that the night had long since pulled its long, dark veil over the sleepy afternoon, tucking the sun beneath the horizon while the moon took her place as monarch of the nocturnal sky.

Another was that we had passed Herr Ackerman's estate ten minutes before, driving deeper into the more stately mansions of the countryside.

And my mother was not there to add her certain aura of levity to the atmosphere. There was a tension in the air that begged a sense of concern and the disgruntlement of a man who found himself in the wrong. He looked out at the opulent properties, lined with trees and stone walks and flowers of all kinds (I would have been so very happy to take the sight of them all in, but it was much too dark to see much of anything besides the glow emanating from inside the windows).

But I doubted very much if he actually saw them.

He seemed to remember himself, where he was going and what he was doing in that car in the first place, and spoke up as we encountered a procession of stately automobiles, most of them much finer than our own."The next driveway," he directed the driver, a little gruffly, but that was his way.

At least the traffic leading through the gates was not as bad as most. But this only proved the exclusivity of the party even more, a bit of a nerve-bender if one really took the time to think of it. SS officers of all kinds would be there, from the low ranking favorites to the high positioned detested who were only there because of their money and influence. Hans had mentioned the night of our engagement, before he left for a short errand in the nearby city of Wittenberge for the duration of three days, that even a large number of the Gestapo would be there too.

I'd never met an officer of the Gestapo before.
All the more reason to justify my apprehension.

Before long, the car pulled up to the front of the house and left us at the stairs, proceeding to drive off with a nonchalant wave of my father's hand.

"You go and find your fiancé," he commented evenly, while we climbed the flight of steps that led up to the large, ornate pair of doors. "If you should ever need me, I will be quite close by."

For only a moment, when we reached the inside of the enormous foyer, I looked away from my father to search the span of the room, and the one beyond its vague borders, for Hans. The crowd of people was small, but the sea of uniforms, SS gray and the deep Gestapo black merging to create one intimidating swirl of dark color, was enough to send me reeling into a deep sense of unease. But all of the men seemed unfamiliar, all faces that held no reflection of acquaintance for me and not a one, when they turned to look at me, feeling my eyes on them, seemed to recognize me either. Hans seemed nowhere to be found.

In a fit of panic, I looked beside me for help. But my father was not there either.

My panic only seemed to heighten.

"Darling, are you quite all right?" A voice murmured into my ear.

I whirled around, finding Hans standing there, looking amused in the most pleasant sort of way. "Oh, Hans…it's only you."

His lip twitched a little. "Were you perhaps expecting someone else? I would simply hate being an intruder in my own fiance's presence," he chuckled at the idea, but an underlying note of malice, almost like teasing but much too dark, sashayed through his laughter. "Wouldn't you agree, Hanne?"

"Well, I-"

He cut me off, sparing me his own cruel inquiry. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, my dear. I am only teasing. What is a little jest between lovers, hmm?"

Lovers. Such a strong word that usually entailed consummation and was considered quite scandalous outside of marriage. And the way he said it, whispering it into my ear like some well-guarded secret that only he and I would bear, coaxed the butterflies out of the deepest places in my stomach. Their wings fluttered against my stomach, sending shivers up and down my spine. The tremors only seemed to intensify as he pressed his lips against my hand, letting them fall gently down the contoured knolls of my knuckles, the flatlands of my wrist. His mouth felt like satin, its dexterity apparent even in the midst of such a simple gesture as a kiss on the hand, and was certainly just as luxurious to the touch.

I couldn't help but recall the first time he brushed it against my lips in the foyer of my apartment.

It almost swept me into my mind altogether, an escape route out of a nerve-wracking situation.

"Come now, my girl, we have so many people to meet!" Hans cried in delight, taking my arm into the crook of his. "I simply must show you off to all of my superiors."

"For what purpose?" I teased. "To make them jealous?"

"Jealous of me? Why, I'd assume they've always been a little envious of my skills as a detective and my charm since they first became acquainted with me, so it would be nothing new if they were to resent me for having you," he replied, nonchalant as ever. "No, it would be more amusing if they were envious of you! Now, wouldn't you agree?"

He chuckled and led me over to a small cluster of officers in the great room, which was quite large and extravagantly decorated in black old world furniture and paintings of Van Gogh on the walls. Upon taking a closer look at the group, I saw a flash of gaudy black fabric, not at all like the stern color of the Gestapo uniform, and realized that the men were surrounding one of the few women that had attended.

I could only assume it was one of the officer's wives.

In the midst of a hearty bout of laughter, the woman had wildly thrown back her sleek head and let the mirth ring throughout the enormous hall. She caught sight of Hans once she had opened her eyes, outstretching her arms and crying out, Landa!, so that the entire group turned to face us. I was unnerved by the abrupt attention, but Hans seemed to only thrive on it.

"Oh, my dear, dear Landa! You old devil you." She raced forward, elegant even in her hastened movements, to kiss Hans on both cheeks. "You're fashionably late as always!"

"Fashionable, Frau Mendler?" He clicked his tongue, smiling wolfishly at her in return. "I'm afraid one can only be so fashionable in special issue attire!"

She turned her cat-like eyes on me, their green color accentuated by her stark makeup. "And this pretty little thing must be your fiancé!" Frau Mendler gracefully extended her hand. "Hanne Kessler, I assume? I have heard much about you, mostly from the rumors surrounding this abrupt little engagement of yours, but Landa here as mentioned you a few times, too."

"Only a few?" I prodded gently.

"Dearest, I'm afraid our darling Landa here is a bit of a secretive man," she explained. "He does like his privacy, like most of his sex do, and tends to keep a tight lip about almost everything but what pertains to his work."

"A man's work is his pride and his joy," Hans chuckled and then roughly patted my hand. "Much like his women! There are many pleasures that he may invest in, for life holds such variety to choose from. Why should any one man feel restricted to only one delight? It seems an insult to his primal nature!"

"You are quite right, Landa, quite right indeed! And speaking of men who are slaves to their professions, dear Hellstrom is here! If he were not such a pale fellow, and so strictly dedicated to the Third Reich, I should mistake him for a Negro, the way he slaves over his desk! No room for society in the poor boy's head, I' m afraid. I nearly had to drag him here!"

"I am not at all surprised," Hans replied indifferently. "He has always been a dedicated and ambitious man of country…"

I wouldn't have been at all astonished if Frau Mendler worked herself into a swoon, the way her animated laughter carried throughout the entire hall. And her manners, they were strange. Protective, bordering on territorial, a behavior which she seemed to exercise on all of the present officers.

"Oh, Frau Mendler," he crooned, her voice low and dulcet, like music. "Won't you be so kind as to excuse me and, of course, my Hanne, here? I should like to escort my dear fiancé about the room so that she may be better acquainted with both her surroundings and your guests, as they are such colorful people. It would be such a tragedy, for their personalities not to be thoroughly enjoyed!"

"Why, Landa. Always so polite," she chuckled sensually over the rim of her champagne. "Feel free to roam the entirety of the house! It is open to serve your benefit! You are not at all chained to me…if you were, I would surely be as lucky as your dearest Hanne."

Frau Mendler's entire body seemed to swerve a little as she bent forward to tap the end of my nose with her index finger. She missed and gently touched my cheek instead. It was close enough for her in her state and she did not see any point in pursuing the petty activity further. Not when there was such an abundance of conversation to be had.

By now, I was beginning to settle into the amenable sort of atmosphere that the room exuded in a fine mist of perfume, champagne and a flowery aroma that wafted in and out of my cognizance as Hans led me around the room, introducing me to all the people that came up to him. I noticed it was never the other way around, that he would approach anyone, rather wait for them to heed his presence and either address him or ignore him completely. Mostly the former occurred…in fact, throughout the entire hour and a half that I found myself interacting with the uniforms that had so unnerved me before, not one man, and certainly no women, left him in peace for a moment.

I could admit readily that, though all of them were friendly, it was a little overwhelming.

In one sense, it was easier to see them less as staunch, straight-backed uniforms who took the country by storm with their ideals of superiority and the rebirth of Germany. In the right light, and with enough champagne coursing through some valve in the back of their minds, they were just as wretchedly human as the rest of us. Some were gregarious with loud, booming laughter and eyes that crinkled up like worn fabric when they smiled. Others were stoic, using their countenances sparingly in conveying any sort of emotion that they did not wish to communicate to the world around them. Many were lost in the sea of faces; unlike Hans, who was intelligent beyond the normal reaches of the human capacity, I did not have the skill of remembering each seasoned officer and young, doe-eyed wife of theirs that I met.

The more noteworthy guests that had attended the gathering stuck in my mind quite like words across a page, illustrations that sketched themselves into my memory and could hardly be erased (at least not for the rest of the night). Frau Mendler, of course, was a garrulous woman who made a spectacle of herself in the most fashionable way. It made her quite the favorite amongst the younger officers, all of which were loosened by the champagne that was being repeatedly offered by the tuxedo-wearing hired hands, whom I overhead Frau Mendler saying were the gardeners who happened to appear handsome in a starched white shirt and a slick of hair grease. Out of all the women who attended, the wife of Brigadefuhrer Mendler was the most voraciously sought after in terms of company. The others appeared happy to stand by their husbands and enjoy the discussions, even adding their two cents, three in some cases that entailed a wife with a little more spirit…and were more avidly accepted amongst the older guests.

Another man had been ghosting through my peripheral vision all throughout the parade of introductions. When I mentioned him to Hans the first time I saw the tall, thin figure striding through a break in the wave of people, he glanced transiently at the man I'd pointed out and gently promised he'd save him for last. I did not know his name, but he certainly left an impression on me despite his anonymity.

He was a black specter, donning the Gestapo uniform with such a pride that would have simply burst forth from him if he did not carry himself so rigidly. With his hands fastened behind his back and his thin lips set in a grim line, he looked like the angel of death locked in a human body, weaving in and out of the crowd with little regard for any of the lives he brushed past in the happily chattering crowd. He was handsome, of course, but it was such a cruel sort of beauty that left me more disquieted by his appearance than awed – the same haunting beauty of weeping willows, the trees that no one ever cared for.

Probably because, like this man, they gave them the shudders.

But Hans was the majority favorite. The rising star, they called him. Full of radiant promise that would likely outshine them all in the end, some even professing they feared him for the prospect of his stealing their ranks and their titles right out from under them, all the while grinning and enchanting them as he did it. His usual way, they remarked playfully. Hans received all of his compliments with such ease, perhaps even a hint of contempt…

He was all charm and vivacity and I realized, when I stood beside him, listening to his philosophies and debates and stories of his detective work all around Germany, quite the raconteur. I should have expected him to be, after realizing early on that he was an exceptional man, but somehow I had missed it. As if it were something so innate to his character that it slipped by my attention unnoticed.

In the midst of all this, my father refused to let go of his restlessness. Even though he was a proud and, sometimes, incorrigible sort of person, he still cared very deeply for my mother and the regard even leached into his sensitivity toward my mother's feelings. The compassion was expertly disguised under the guise of the malcontent, a mask of petulance and disdain and a certain degree of taciturnity that made the gap of communication between him and his wife all the more impossible to breach as she never seemed to breathe without talking. But still, the few times I saw him throughout the event, I saw the roots of agitation crawling through his stolid face – he wanted to get home. To apologize.

He loved her, even if he claimed that she would be the death of him.

About two hours after our parting in the foyer, during a brief interlude between meeting the officers, I found myself privy to and a lover's spat. An older, higher ranking officer had left in a bit of a fuming temper to find his willful wife, who had inevitably wandered off after becoming bored with hearing her husband talk of nothing but other women, especially the lovely Frau Mendler. The man had a knack for hiding his frustration with her, but by the way Hans smiled so pleasantly, so amusedly, I could tell it had not been hidden well enough.

It was not very long after that incident that he approached me.

But at last, I saw him, forcing himself through the crowd in that usual self-important conduct of his, which left a few of the guests looking at him in that way that muttered, 'you asshole, can't you see I'm standing here?'. They ignored him well enough, though, and he reached us in an unceremonious stumble. It was clear enough that he was drunk, wetting down the lump in his throat to sate the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he had wronged his wife.

Despite the appearance he bore of being a heartless, insensitive old man with nothing but a high regard for himself, he really was a big baby in most ways. Even his regrets were selfish sometimes.

"Hanne, I'm heading off for home," he said, his voice more of an inconsistent rumble than anything. "We're going home, actually. C'mon."

He tugged on my arm, but Hans intervened, putting his hand gently on my father's in order to grab his roving attention. My father released his grip as if he had touched something hot or had been bitten by something extremely nasty – the look on his face told all. He did not like being touched, especially by Hans himself.

"If I may, Herr Standartenführer?" He inquired, all warm civility and kindness in the face of public drunkenness.

"Oh, what more in the name of heaven could you want from me?" He growled. "You've already taken everything I have, you old, rotten snake charmer!"

"Father!" I cried, more out of embarrassment and outrage for Hans than for him.

"You, shut your mouth" he shouted at me, pointing that usual silencing finger my way. "I'm talking to the brute here, not you."

It seemed to grow very quiet around us. I could almost feel the eyes of the gossip hounds diverting their attentions away from their champagne, their droll husbands, their young, handsome victims and on the small spectacle my father was making of the three of us. We became the pathetic display of the evening in a matter of mere moments.

How fickle time and fate could be, conspiring against a man who had done nothing to incite them.

I felt my cheeks flush with a surge of mortification and dismay; how could he do such a thing? Embarrass me and Hans and, worst of all, himself in front of all these people? A man of country, devoted to Germany, who spurned the tedious affluent solely because of this reason – for pettiness and lack of grace.

He had become one of them. The descent of Adam and Eve, the fall of Rome, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ – every pivotal act of cruelty and injustice was restructured before me in a man I looked up to, feared even, for his expectations as a good, reasonable man of Germany, if not the most irritable one of them all.

All of it was lost in one too many drinks and a regret that could have been righted in a matter of hours.

Stupid, stupid man…I could never forgive him for this.

"Please, herr," Hans smiled genially. "Do not work yourself into such a fluster. It is clear that you are tired and wish to return to your apartment. However, I was only going to suggest that I take your daughter home, once we have finished here. She is, after all, my escort and it would be such a lonely event without her by my side."

My father waved his hand, dismissing him. "Do what you like with the whore! I care nothing for her…"

His reputation, stained in the length of one historic evening. I felt like crying, mostly, but flying at him like some provoked banshee, shrieking and beating my fists against him with reckless abandon was more appealing. But that would only ruin him even more, peg him as that lunatic, drunken old man with the drunken madcap of a daughter who could not keep her temper.

He stalked out of the place and the party resumed, as if nothing had happened. But I was sure it would be discussed on the morrow, over tea and strudel, perhaps even as early as breakfast, as many women tended to work themselves into frenzies of joviality over the happenings of a momentous occasion.

Hans did not seem to be undone by my father's antics as I was…in fact, he looked as calm as ever.

A part of me resented him for having such a talent for masking his emotions in the face of histrionics…whereas I could not as easily write off my anger, my humiliation.

After a time, when it appeared that I had met almost everyone (all the important people, anyway, most of whom acted like nothing had happened earlier), Hans guided me into a more sheltered part of the room. He sighed and looked at me when we settled into the backdrop of the party; I could tell it was not to his liking, removing himself from all the levity and public interest, so I considered it a very kind, unselfish gesture, his leading me off to the side like he did so I could take a moment to breathe and escape the prying looks and the whispers that circulated around the room.

I wished, ardently, that I could go home.

"Please, darling, do let me apologize for steeping you so forcefully into the public eye," he murmured into my ear, sweeping an unruly lock of hair behind my ear in an almost possessive gesture. "You look a little flushed and certainly a great deal more overwhelmed. Would you care at all for another glass of champagne? It does have a wonderful sort of calming effect on one's nerves…it is why, perhaps, they call it liquid courage."

He chuckled and the sound was so arresting, so contagious, that I could not help but catch on and laugh too. I nodded my head as the mirth subsided. "Yes, I think you're right," I replied, and began to scan the room for a passing waiter. "Where are they? You'd think, logically, that they'd be hard to miss, carrying those tall glasses around. But somehow they manage to blend into the crowd…"

I turned to look at him, to see if he agreed with me, and found him already holding out a glass for me to take. "Here you are, my pet."

"Oh," I blurted out unthinkingly and took it from him. "You're very fast. Thank you."

"Perhaps I am merely practicing for the new job I must take on after we are married," he replied. "I have heard it is a rough profession, one that I must not shy away from, and since all rumors have some truth to them, I cannot help but prepare myself for the difficulties that may come so that I may better receive the awards."

"That is a very smart method," I said in agreement, sipping tentatively at my champagne. A sort of light feeling of weightlessness, as if gravity was seeping out of my skin, was beginning to form in my toes. "What is this new job you are preparing for?"

He gave me a crooked, tight-lipped smile "Why, being a husband, of course."

Once I restated all the things he had mentioned in my head, putting them together and weaving the words into the ideal, it made sense, the correlation. I smiled in return.

He leaned into my ear, his lips nearly touching the delicate skin there. I shivered, but tried to keep my composure. "Might I kiss you?" He whispered.

I nodded, exhaling shakily, and turned to face him. He did not close his eyes, but leaned in rather slowly so that I could clearly see their dark color within our close proximity. In the dim lighting of the corner we had backed ourselves into, they were engulfed in a sort of shade that was thrown over each of us. Still, I could trace the familiar gray in them, though the threads of green that I had not seen, nor ever imagined before in their very enigmatic, surprising color, stood stark against the hard, yet turbulent pretense he had erected in his soul-piercing, calculating stare.

The wispy little tendrils of his breath unfurled across my skin and I closed my eyes with anticipation, only to feel the anticlimactic graze of his lips against my cheek.

A smirk emerged from behind his amused expression as he saw the look on my face. Disappointed and, mostly, frustrated.

Before I could protest, however, we were intruded upon by what at first materialized as a wayward shadow. But the vague smell of masculine spice filled the small corner and I was instantly all too aware that Hans and I were no longer alone.

"Unterscharführer Landa, if I may interrupt," came a low, rather gruff voice. The words were polite, but the undercurrent came across as almost ornery, as if he bore a streak of arrogance in him that was at least a mile wide and couldn't be contained by the mere act of courteousness.

I gazed into the face of the specter that had been haunting the backwoods of my mind all throughout the night. The willow tree-like beauty of his face still stirred a feeling of unrest in me; his looks were not at all inviting, though lovely as they were.

"Ah! Oberscharführer Hellstrom!" Hans seemed to sing his vivacious greeting, outstretching his hand to welcome the young man before him. "You have abandoned your work to grace society with your presence at last! I am glad…the world is in desperate need of your wit and your charm."

"Regrettably, yes," the man called Hellstrom replied. "Your influence is quite persuasive, Herr Unterscharführer."

"So they tell me, dear boy," Hans smiled affably. "And how do you enjoy your liberation?"

"Society is," he paused, looking around at the lively company. His eyes narrowed to the slightest degree, a change in his expression that would only be seen by someone who was studying him closely, that suggested a lapse into contemplation. He was trying to decide whether or not he liked it all that much, but by the way his brow furrowed a little, I could only think that he much preferred slavery. "Tolerable, if not only sometimes amusing."

He looked to me for a fraction of a second.

"Only tolerable, Hellstrom? That is regrettable, considering its influence on your rank and the opinion of your superiors. Why, perhaps society is not at all unlike a weed. A dandelion, if you prefer the particulars," he said. "It is pretty to look at, yes, but it is not as agreeable as the typical flower. Its nature is to breed annoyance and spread like wildfire if not contained, and therefore men of your ambitious nature do not prefer the simplicity of the dandelion. You prefer, let us say, something more infinitely attractive that takes much more dedication and work to grow – an orchid, perhaps. But once you grow weary of growing your orchids, dear boy, you'll settle right into an affinity for the dandelions. For all their trouble, they can be quite admirable, especially in their dexterity in spreading their seeds of gossip and, therefore, its control across the street-walks of Berlin."

I smiled to myself at his choice of analogy.

"That is a curious metaphor, Landa." Hellstrom's brow dipped rapidly in a sort of makeshift confusion and then leveled again. "But not incorrect. Perhaps you are right, but for now I must despise it or I will fall too quickly into its snare."

His cold stare skimmed over me, sizing up my worthiness for such a man as Hans perhaps. "And who might this be?"

"Ah, Hellstrom," Hans crooned, lifting my hand and pressing his lips to it affectionately. "This is my dear, beautiful fiancé, Hanne Kessler."

"Kessler, hmm?" Hellstrom grunted and oustretched his hand, the signs of his reluctant obligation to social etiquette akin to that of a slave bowing to a strict master. I'd never seen a man look more pained to follow them, really.

I took it, half afraid he would bite, and he wrung it hard twice, his calluses chafing against the unmarred skin of my palms. Workers hands….he might have been a farmer, a poor man, before taking his less than desirable situation into his own hands, turning it around by applying for the Gestapo. "I've heard that name before. Standartenfuhrer Kessler - you are his daughter?"

"Yes, herr Oberscharführer, I am," I replied.

"And where is your father?" He asked, his cold, clear eyes the picture of equanimity and self-control as he scanned the whole of the company for my father's face. I had not known my father had ever collaborated with the Gestapo, but then again I knew very little about the militaristic goings-on, let alone the methods of the party itself.

"He left not yet a half an hour ago," I replied.

Hellstrom's focus averted to me, almost accusatory in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. As if I had caused his departure. "He is not unwell?"

"No, he is quite well," I said. "On the contrary, he was anxious to return home to his work. He has a lot of paperwork to attend to."

Hans gave a cry of delight as a waiter bowed to him and offered another glass of champagne. "Ah!" He waved the man off with a flick of his wrist, something he managed to do with an air of masculinity despite its usual prone to being a womanly charm. "Thank you, Hermann!"

The intimidating man then fixated his attention on Hans, who gave the impression that he was very much at ease despite the natural design of the man's impenetrable gaze to be, well…devastating and distressing. "Yes, paperwork, something I should be doing right this moment as I, too, have a mountain of interrogation forms to be signed and filled out and, most of all, studied."

"As do I, I'm sure, since you're looking at me in that all-assuming sort of way, Dieter," Hans knocked back a long draw of his champagne, smacking his lips together in approval. "But, one must be permitted to live once in a while, dear boy, or for you…once every three months. Even Hitler may take a breath without thinking of his plans for the new regime every now and then and sometimes the man even ventures out into society himself and enjoys the spoils of his victories! But, if it is leaving that you wish to do, please do not feel as if you are entitled to my opinion of it…you do look very tired, herr, and a bit of rest may do you a world of good."

"Damn rest," Hellstrom replied with a snort. "I have paperwork. I have calls to make. I have a reputation amongst my superiors as a hard worker to earn. Rest can wait."

"If I may make a small suggestion, dear Hellstrom?" Hans asked gently, politely. "It would do you a world of good to get a bit of rest. Don't you agree?"

The way he proposed his advice did not come across as a recommendation at all…more like an order. The admonishing tone of a father who threatens his rowdy sons with a good tanning if they do not behave. Hellstrom looked a little unnerved himself by Hans' evocative tone, a little flash of irony that seemed to strike me as strange – the predator afraid of the prey?

A very strange notion.

But our predator did not retain his fear for long as the emotion melted away into the façade of rigid self-control that he bore like rich cologne. His body seemed to stretch and harden, his lips elongating into an even firmer, thinner line…if it was even possible.

Realistically, his mouth should've been swallowed whole but such an unyielding, haughty scowl.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Hanne," he smiled briefly, a wolfish expression. "I hope we will have the same pleasure in the future. For now, I must take my leave of this place. A good night to you, Herr Unterscharführer."

"Adieu, Oberscharführer Hellstrom. Anddo not forget…carpe diem!"

He nodded almost frigidly in response and we both watched the man leave. I downed the rest of my champagne, the weightless feeling spreading into my head, making me feel rather pleasantly dizzy and out of sorts.

Hans, still standing beside me, took notice.

"Still devastated by the spectacle dearest?" He asked, taking my arm and fitting it into the crook of his, doing this gently of course. I nodded in reply, pressing a finger to my temple in an attempt to steady the world beneath my feet.

"Ah, you are a bit light, I see, when it comes to your liquor," he chuckled amiably and led me from out of our private little corner. "Come, let us go and look at the flowers Frau Mendler has in her hall. She always has the most beautiful arrangements. Perhaps you may…find them to your liking."

My heart thrilled a little at the thought of escaping the madness of the convening area, so to speak, where everyone stayed and did not even think of leaving as they sated themselves with gossip and arguments over Hitler's ideologies. Especially since even a murmur of the word flower had reached my sensitive ears, I was even more desperate to leave the place and find somewhere more comfortable to talk and bury myself in something more infinitely familiar. Hans escorted me across the room, our fine shoes treading damask carpets and expensive wood flooring.

I felt instantly relieved once we left the grand convention, liberated from the endless chatter and the coursing whispers that laced in and out of lighthearted banter and the deep-meaning addresses between good friends and complete strangers. It felt like a strange land in that place, something I had never paid much mind to in my past attendances. But they had all been household names, Frau Ackerman and Herr Schwartz. If it was all an intricate, life-like stage play, then at least I knew the actors, the setting, the script. Perhaps the end was never in sight, the final act, but at least the train of events was not alien to me. I knew what could happen, but not what would.

Here was foreign terrain.

Perhaps I wasn't even making sense. Here, in my own head. It didn't feel like sense, the way it swung back and forth in my brain like some sort of mindless pendulum.

But at least I had Hans.

In the quiet, I had to wonder why it was my father would say such a thing to him. In public, no less. Hans was not taking me away…if anything, he was delivering me. Saving me from the ceaseless line of prospects I'd have been made to endure if he had not been the one. Helping me get that flower shop I'd always wanted, ever since I tore my first flower from the cracks in the city streets, since I picked up my first book about exotic plants.

And yet he was treated with nothing but contempt on my father's side. It was all very unnecessary, treating his daughter's fiancé like he did and I vowed not to speak to him until he apologized.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, finally realizing I was still walking.

He pressed his finger to his lips, his gray-green eyes widening. "Shh," he whispered comically. "It's a secret. Not even I can know where our feet may take us. Let us wait and see, shall we?"

I nodded, laughter bubbling up in my stomach. He was attempting to cheer me up, the good man. The least I could do was go along with his plan, whatever it would turn out to be.

In a short few minutes, we had reached the end of one corridor and found ourselves facing a fork in the road. An ornate grand hall stood before us, a crystal and gold chandelier hanging overhead and throwing yellow-washed light and sickly looking shadows over us and the long parade of steps that comprised a pale-crème marble staircase. The banisters were polished, perhaps mahogany wood, and gleamed in the soft light, but the opaque wrought iron accents remained black and unchanged by the delicate illumination.

But Hans did not want to tackle the staircase, it seemed; he took my hand and led me to the left, down a dark hallway where only a shred of light spilled over the burnished floor.

"Are you sure it's all right to be wandering this place like it is our own?" I whispered, rather uncertain about poking through a house that does not belong to me.

He glanced back at me, ever amused. "Darling, the lady of the house gave us permission to roam the halls if we wished," he assured me, his voice soft and pliant. "Do not worry, my lovely one. If it comes to pass that we are caught in a room that we should not have even found, I may talk us out of a sticky situation. If the occasion calls for it."

The shred of light was most intriguing to him, as he continued to approach it with unwavering resolve. I loyally trailed after him, more out of obligation than interest myself as he still had my hand caught in his iron grasp. "Let us see what is in this place, hmm?"

I brandished my hand. "After you, my dear."

He smiled at me placidly and pushed open the door. Inside was a small study, decidedly quaint next to the elaborate décor of the rest of the house, and I immediately assumed that it was the Herr Brigadeführer'soffice we were trespassing in.

"Are you certain, Hans?" I asked.

"As certain as I'll ever be, my pet." He replied. His voice indicated it would be the end of the conversation and he would contribute no more to the subject, so I remained silent as he foraged through the tall, handsome bookcases that held a variety of hardback titles. Mostly they were political and military subjects, but once I ambled toward the desk, I saw War and Peace by Tolstoy sitting in a corner of the desk, looking untouched at first glance but, once I opened it up to look, I saw that it had been rummaged through quite a few times before.

Like a treasure chest.

"So, where are these arrangements you spoke of before?" I asked absently.

Without turning to face me, Hans replied with a simple, "there are none. In fact, Frau Mendler hates flowers. She's allergic to them, I believe, though she would never tell a soul that sort of embarrassing little detail. She's quite the mystery, that woman, much like you…"

I, however, did look at him out of disbelief. I rounded the square frame of the desk and walked a few steps before it, watching him as he reached the last bookcase, positioned by a sort of trophy mantelpiece. "Then why did you-"

He snapped a book shut and replaced it back in it slot. "Because I wanted to have you all to myself, dear girl. I didn't want to share you with the public eye."

"You mean, to talk?" I asked.

He chuckled, a sensual little sound that found their way into my ears and wracked my spine with provocative shivers.

His heel turned slowly as he moved to face me, his inscrutable countenance half consumed in the shadows that kept to the room. He drew nearer to me. "Your naiveté is refreshing, Hanne," he replied. "Certainly to talk. To talk in whatever language you'd prefer…"

"German, of course." I felt my feet struggling to find steady ground, moving my body away from the slinking predator that Hans had become.

He was not at all frightening, in fact he came alive in some sort of fiery allure that coursed throughout the entire room, but still I moved away from him until my back collided with the desk.

"Perhaps that's not what I meant, Hanne," he murmured, reaching me at last. He stood a few inches over me, even in my heels, and his chin came up to the crown of my head.

For a moment, I simply tried to remember how to breathe as he leaned into my tightly wound body, his heavenly scent choking all of my senses and burying them in a trance as he dipped his head into my shoulder, inhaling softly and tracing the hollow of my neck and the sensitive skin just beneath my ear with the tip of his nose.

All I could do was try not to moan in response.

Instead, I concentrated on the leather of his gloves that still lingered in his hands, an undercurrent beneath the traces of cinnamon and his musky aftershave – all of which encased me in a cloud of his presence as his hands lay flat against the surface of the desk. He was almost omnipresent.

"Tu est si belle ce soir, ma cheri," he whispered into my ear, his cheek pressed against my temple. I felt his fingertips slide ever so softly over mine, trailing over the length of my arms until he reached my shoulders.

Breathe. Breathe, Hanne. You must breathe.

His cheek grazed mine as he lifted his head to face me, eyes seeming to glow even hooded beneath his dark lashes. "Puis-je t'embrasser?" He asked, taking my chin into his hands and inclining his head. I couldn't understand what he had said, but nodded anyway; my heart began to thud dully against my ribs as he leaned closer and closer…

Might I kiss you?

I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply as his lips brushed softly against mine, the sensation like silk falling over bare skin. His hands crept like vines down my neck, my collarbone, the entirety of my body, one cupping the back of my head as the other traipsed down my sides. At last, after a moment of terrible teasing, he deepened the kiss.

I reeled back and forth, dizzy as ever, within this tantalizing new haven. The smell of his hair, his skin, his body all felt like a fine mist that had fallen from the sky itself, and every inch of him pressed too gently against me made me feel claustrophobic and unappeased and I wanted him closer so much that I softly tugged him to me. He did not respond to my provocation, merely continued to mold his mouth against mine in such adept ways that drove me nearly out of my mind, for lack of a better word.

I could hardly think of words at the moment.

What were words when such gestures and motions and beautiful acts existed?

In a moment, I was all too aware of his hand sweeping the length of my thigh, and the strange, rather painful sensation of his fingers inside of me. My head fell back and he bit down hard on the exposed flesh he found there and all I could do in response, in this current mindless state, was groan and rake my fingers through his dark blonde hair.

"Untouched, I see…" He nipped at my throat, breathing heavily against the skin. The damp warmth of his breath felt like no heaven I'd ever heard of. "All the more pleasurable for the both of us."

I gasped when he removed his fingers, arching into his body as he laid me back against the desk.

"Now, darling, please do be patient," he groaned, his hands on my thighs and pushing agonizingly slow at the hem of my dress. Unsure of what to do, I kissed his neck to appear busy, but ended up enjoying the feel of his pulse and his vulnerable warmth and his human flesh underneath my teeth. "I know you must feel as if you will simply ignite with passionate fire and wither in the throes of such a need that will surely consume you if I do not act quickly, but I will exhaust you too early if I let you have all the power. If I let you win so easily like this."

The dress was at my belly; I could feel the fabric of his clothes against my bare skin.

"Now hush, my pet, and let me ravage you," he bit down hard on my throat and I cried out in a combination of exquisite pain and a cruel desire that I had never, ever felt before in the whole of my life.

He did not even bother removing the last of my dress, only tore the obstructing garments out of the way and breathed evenly against my lips.

It all happened so fast, the moment in which he pushed himself into me, that though I was not spared the pain, the memory of it was lost in the midst of the rush that came afterward. The back of my head collided with the desk, sending shockwaves of a self-inflicted ache throughout my temples, especially as Hans bit down on the same wounded spot on my neck, over and over and over. The warm pooling of blood oozing in trails down to the desk felt oddly detached from me, as if it were someone else that were bleeding beneath his vicious bite.

The excitement of feeling such a malevolent attack from him, instead, was much more palpable. My fingertips tore through his hair.

"Hans, please," I beseeched him.

His eyes twinkled impishly, mouth lingering in its slack, arousing desire. He shifted his hips forward once and it took every ounce of me to keep from screaming out; I failed miserably, the strangled sound echoing off the shadowed walls.

I unfurled beneath him like some newborn flower, every last fiber of my insides coming undone as if a dam had broken somewhere deep within and he had triggered its downfall. All of him, the sound of his impassioned voice as it was released into my skin, to be kept as a memory, a recollection of our scandalous library affair, the rhythm of his body over mine, brought me down and raised me up and made me cry out for more with each measured cadence of this strange new dance.

In the end, when I unraveled like the first spring flower and sprang forth from infertile ground, only I moaned his name. But his satisfied grunt and exhalation when he shuddered and found release, collapsing against me as if I were the safety of the rock after braving the feral cruelty of the sea's violent storm…it was enough for me.

---

It really was a miracle that we were never found.

For if we were, there would have been the devil to pay.